Tombstones

And so it is we’ll leave our final mark
Upon the stone which cannot be erased
Let’s cherish every moment, every spark
And every dream we dreamers choose to chase

I shudder at the thought of ground above
Preferring rather that it stay below
Deliver me to ocean’s shore, my love
And on a gentle sea breeze, let me go

Sanity

My world is small
and well contained
Without the burdens
of wealth or fame —
A status quo
that’s well maintained
And well designed
to keep me sane.

News?

Dark clouds gather
overhead

I think I’d rather
skip the dread

Of all the blather
being spread

Forget Dan Rather
and go to bed!

Undone

the days are getting short
no morning glows
shade lingers neath
the mighty oak that grows
along the eastern side
where windmills spin
too soon, they’ll show
their mighty forms again

the robins, plump and silent
come and go
wild geese appear and scatter
to and fro
eventually a proper V
they’ll form
and head for winter havens
green and warm

through every change the sky retains its hue
reminding us another spring is due.

Knowing

I asked the starry, midnight sky
For answers to my questions
It just looked back in disbelief
And offered no suggestions.

I pleaded with the morning sun
Quite certain it would know
It glared at me as if to say
I’m only here for show.

I tossed my questions to the wind
One final chance had I
But found it simply blew me off
As time went rushing by.

I’ve reached my own conclusions
Through lack of good suggestions
And realized that answers come
From merely asking questions.

Molting

The breeze is making music
As the wind chimes play their tune
A clanging, church bell melody
Invades the afternoon

In between the gentle gusts
The cricket bands continue
A harmony unfolds for us
Outside the August window

With all this tunage going on
Although it’s played with flair
Without the Robin’s evening song
A silence fills the air

In a weakened state, they roam through day
On guard, prepared to bolt
Without a peep to give away
Their presence, as they molt.

Wet

The rain has washed another week away
The smell of bark and rotting wood prevails
Today the burning sun will save the day
As raindrops melt and hawk majestic sails
Across a sky of unrelenting blue
Above the miles of green and misty trails
Escaping from my sight–beyond my view
Enduring truths he silently unveils –
Unfurl your wings and fly above it all
Just catch a breeze and follow where it leads
Release all doubts and fears that you will fall
The one who overcomes his fear succeeds
Embrace the hawk who flies above the squall
And in this giant void has found it all

Alone

Alone again, she contemplates her path–
Is anything she’s done worth anything?

Alone again, without her other half–
Will she ever find her voice or will to sing?

Alone again, and forced to do the math–
Is anything she’s done worth anything?

Absence

Robins grace a fertile lawn
And sing their sweet and soothing song
We’re unaware
That they are there
Until the day they’re gone.

And that silence lingers on.

Until we meet again…

Hi Everyone, I’m taking a break from blogging and I wanted to thank each and every one of you for your wonderful comments. The magazine has grown and that is where I find myself most of the time. If not there, I prefer to be in the sunshine!

And so, until I return, have a great summer and stay in touch. Most of you know how to reach me but if you don’t you can always reach me at editor@wordcatalystmagazine.com

Thanks again, Shirley

Two Roses

Before I go
I’ll leave for you
two roses on the table
and though such sadness
fills your face
I’ve seen your wisdom, wit and grace
and know
that you’ll be able
to understand it must be so
though I love you more
than you could know
I’ll leave for you
before I go
two roses on the table.

Lights Out

the fire’s out and all is dark
there is no ember, coal or spark
to generate the heat that filled the space
i kick the ashes now and then
and hope what was will be again
but know that it can never be replaced

and so i leave you as i came
no closer to immortal fame
but closer to my heart than most have been
I sense you’ve found your summer bliss
and left behind that dark abyss
the stone has seen the light – good bye, my friend.

In Sight

All things must end the way all things began
Some harder to accept or understand

When time has robbed the artist of their sight
Their images no longer come to light

We must accept there is no brilliant plan
To rescue them from their eternal night.

Drought

Every day, I check the well
Each day, a bit more solemn
I slowly let the bucket drop
And hope each day to hear it stop
Before it hits the bottom.

Rest in Peace – For Bob Church

Our dear friend and colleague, Bob Church, passed away on April 29, 2009 after a long and courageous battle with cancer. After a short hiatus, Bob continued his writings and shared them with us almost daily through emails. He was an inspiration to us all and has left the gift of his words in the archives of Word Catalyst.

I began writing the following poem when I first learned that Bob had been diagnosed with cancer and had trouble finishing it as I waited to see if the chemo would perform a miracle – it didn’t. I finally finished it as part of a special edition chapbook that was presented to him by a group of Word Catalyst writers who attended his birthday bash in September of 2008.

I now realize that a miracle did take place – even if it wasn’t the one we were all hoping for. We met Bob Church. We held his hand, laughed at his jokes, cried together and listened as he recited stories in a way that only he could have done. In the process, we forged bonds of friendship that grew out of our mutual love and respect for a man named Bob Church. Thank you, Bob.

My Dear Friend, How can we explain the bond that has formed through cyberspace? We are books without covers and yet we read each other so well. Without ever touching hands, you have touched my heart and soul and will forever be a part of me. Your wisdom and wit have brought a smile to my face on days when I thought I didn’t have one in me. Your gentle heart has brought me to tears on many occasions. I am truly blessed to have found a friend like you in this great big world of strangers. Every now and then we meet someone special. Someone who changes who we are. You are that special someone. Thank you for coming into my life.

Gentle Heart

Oh gentle heart I hear your silent beat
I sense the tender touch of gentle hands
Your spirit sings a song so bittersweet
Of fantasies from lost, forbidden lands
I listen for that beat that stirs my soul
And wills my heart to shed its cool pretense
Each vine that intertwines around the pole
Envelops and adorns the weathered fence
Our friends are vines that hold us when we’re weak
With miles between us still our spirits met
We’re living proof that souls alone can speak
And that, my friend, I never will forget
I thank you for providing me a star
To cherish and look up to – near or far.

~ In memory of Bob Church ~ Rest in Peace, my friend.

Home Again

Exhaustion has taken its usual toll
Depleting my mind and invading my soul
There’re times when it takes all the strength you possess
To recapture the loved ones with which you are blessed
And once again feel you are whole.

Welcome Home Kids!

What if…

An egg is just an egg
when it lands within the nest.
Without a rooster’s presence
an egg’s an egg… at best.

An egg is just an egg
no matter what the beast.
How can one be called a being
and the other just a feast?

An egg is just an egg
no matter what they preach.
The power to heal the living
May be now within our reach.

A piece of steel is not a bridge
no matter how it’s bent.
An egg is just an egg
not a being by mere intent.

Sprung

The snow is beginning to travel
Leaving brown earth in its path
As the sun claims the day
It will soon have its way
Forcing winter to swallow its wrath.

Whine and Roses

in silence
they suffer

unemployed

in darkness
they wander

homeless

in need of hope
they pray

questioning

in need of nothing
they whine

shamelessly

totally oblivious
to their rose garden

Figures

I find no validation
or explicit explanation
for unfounded fascination
leading only to frustration
nor any known equation
for this bittersweet sensation
just the powerful persuasion
of my own imagination.